


Elf Help

by Nemirovitch



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 05:14:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17016417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemirovitch/pseuds/Nemirovitch
Summary: A row boat, rum, elves.What fiendish THRUSH plot could this involve? Or does it actually somehow involve a fiendish Mr. Waverly plot?





	Elf Help

**Author's Note:**

  * For [girlintheglen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlintheglen/gifts).



“Row, row, row your boat gently down the lake,” Napoleon's singing as he rows, far too cheerful for such an early morning.

Now and then, Illya glances up from his electronic gadget, a small smile on his face. “A few more feet to starboard, Napoleon. We're nearly upon our target.”

“Better you than me down there. I'm sure I saw the Loch Ness Monster before,” Napoleon says as he looks down at the murky water.

“The Loch Ness Monster lives in Scotland, and doesn't exist,” Illya replies as he adjusts his oxygen tank.

“She could be here on vacation.” Napoleon shrugs as he swishes an oar, turning the boat slightly on Illya's hand signal.

“Very well, if I see her, I shall give her your regards,” Illya says teasingly. “She's just your type.” With that he shuffles onto the edge of the boat while Napoleon counter-balances. In an instant he's over the edge and disappears underwater.

 

Mobile tracker taped to his arm, Illya swims down into the gloom. Dark shapes and shadows blur and change with every moment. He shakes his head and keeps descending. _Nessie isn't real and she doesn't take trips to lakes in Minnesota_ , he says to himself.

The tracker guides him to the sunken device and he picks it up, checking for damage. Something else in the mud gleams in the poor light and he picks that up, too. Intrigued, Illya tilts the bottle to try to read the label, but decides to take it back up to look at it properly.

 

Back in the boat, Napoleon's utterly relaxed as he watches some otters glide along. He smiles as the mother otter leads a perfect line of pups behind her. He could see himself enjoying a summer vacation here sometime, amusing himself with the thought of Illya missing his jazz clubs and bookshops if he ever convinced him to join him.

Illya breaks the surface and splutters a little, then heaves the device up to Napoleon. “I got you a little something for your date with Nessie, too,” he says as he hands over the bottle.

“A good vintage and still unopened,” Napoleon says with genuine appreciation as he squints at the tarnished brass label. “Any pirates to go with the rum?”

“Not that I saw,” Illya says as he pulls himself back into the boat and busies himself with the diving gear. “If the seal is intact, perhaps we could give the bottle to Mr. Waverly as a Christmas present?”

“Maybe check with the boys and girls in the lab, just to be sure. At the very least, it'll made a great paperweight,” says Napoleon. “Shall we call it a day, or would you like to go on a circuit around the lake, just us and Sputnik here, see all the tourist spots?”

Illya looks dubiously around them. “Really, Napoleon.”

Laughing as he rows, Napoleon starts to follow the raft of otters, keeping enough distance to not scare them away.

 

Back at headquarters, Napoleon sets the freshly cleaned bottle of rum aside while he watches Illya and two of U.N.C.L.E.'s technical specialists Merton and Zhou examine the retrieved gizmo. “It looks like a cross between a novelty lighter and a radio,” he comments.

Zhou raises her eyebrow. “If it explodes, it'll light your cigar alright.”

“ _If it explodes?_ ” Napoleon's a little disconcerted by this, even more by Illya's broad smile.

“Don't worry, we can pick up a small jazz station from Baton Rouge on this, so we'll have some good music to listen to as we go,” Illya replies as he unscrews the assembly.

Napoleon can only laugh. “Sometimes, you can be so bloody-minded, Illya.”

 

“Good morning, gentlemen. It's good to see you in good spirits,” Mr. Waverly appears in the doorway, pipe in hand as he pats down his pockets. “I take it the mission was a success?”

“Good morning. Yes, sir.” Napoleon is instantly professional and serious again.

Illya adds as he looks up, “there's no damage to the circuitry, sir.”

Merton is examining an electronic chip with a probe. “We should be able to replicate the design and re-engineer the device to counteract THRUSH's other electronic weaponry.”

“Excellent work, everyone,” Waverly says proudly. “It seems you've brought something with which to celebrate.”

Napoleon starts to block Waverly's view of the bottle, but concedes defeat. “Sorry, Mr. Waverly. We were hoping to give this to you as a Christmas present. We wanted to check if it's still drinkable after being under that lake for who knows how long.”

“What a thoughtful idea. At any rate, the bottle has a pleasing design, and the label is a historian's dream. Does the name _Ælfwine_ mean anything to you?” Waverly asks as he delightedly examines the bottle, turning it in his hands.

Napoleon shakes his head. “Not really, no.”

“Old English, I believe,” Illya chimes in. “Something to do with an Elf. But I don't suppose the _wine_ refers to actual wine?”

“Very close, Mr. Kuryakin,” Mr. Waverly points as he nods. “Elf friend. The two gentlemen pictured on the label are a human and his friend who just happens to be an elf.”

“Delightful. I'm sure if you drink enough of that rum, you'll be away with the pixies, too.” Napoleon smiles and taps the bottle, making it ping with a pleasing sound.

Mr. Waverly places the bottle carefully back on the shelf. “If you keep that in a dark, cool place, you can wrap it up and I would be delighted to receive it as a gift. Thank you both.”

 

It's several months later and as Napoleon arrives at reception, Wanda hands him a small card instead of his badge.

“Mr. Waverly and Illya are handling an urgent case. You're to meet them at this address right away,” she's hiding a smile as she tells him, but Napoleon's suspicious. “Leave your gun here. You won't need it.”

“What case?” Napoleon reluctantly surrenders his gun, placing it on her desk.

“Just go to the loading depot and ask for Mr. Waverly. They'll let you in.” Wanda is already busy with a list on her clipboard.

Napoleon twists the card around and upside down. “You're up to something, Wanda. I know.”

Wanda smiles up at him now. “You'll make a great spy one day, Napoleon. Have a good time!”

 

The address turns out to be a medium sized theater, and he's shown to a small room next to the stage gangway. There's a bag sitting on a table, and inside he spots some red and green fabric. He turns as a door behind him opens.

“So, he got you, too?” Illya says wearily.

Napoleon's face lights up as he sees Illya's dressed in a green velour outfit, with red and white leggings. “You're dressed as an elf! I love those striped legs you've got happening there, Mr. Candy Cane.”

Napoleon's too busy laughing as Illya leans against the door, arms folded and a scowl on his face. He tosses his head as the floppy sock hat falls over his eyes.

“Mr. Solo, it's good to hear you join in the holiday cheer,” Mr. Waverly says as he joins Illya in the doorway.

“Santa, I do believe Napoleon should be on your naughty list for his mocking laughter,” Illya says icily.

“Santa Claus believes in redemption. Mr. Solo has a chance to get in my good books once he puts on the other costume and joins us as we help the underprivileged children waiting patiently out there,” Mr. Waverly's white cotton eyebrows bounce up and down as he speaks.

“Yes, Napoleon. What do you say?” Illya's cheered up so much now, and he's grinning evilly.

“I don't suppose we can open that bottom of rum so I can fortify myself? No? Then I suppose you'll just have to call me Ælfwine,” Napoleon sighs as he starts to unpack the Santa's elf costume.

“Merry Christmas, gentlemen,” Mr. Waverly says softly, his eyes twinkling.

“Merry Christmas, Santa,” his loyal elves reply as the excited chatter and yelps of the small children filter in from outside Santa's Grotto. 


End file.
